


The Aftermath

by happygiraffe



Series: Recovery [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Force Healing, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Whump, Worried Qui-Gon, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord, duel of the fates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygiraffe/pseuds/happygiraffe
Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon arrive at the Jedi Healers after the battle with Maul goes a little differently. It's a race against time to save Obi-Wan's life, and even if they win, their lives will never be the same.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Recovery [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862353
Comments: 23
Kudos: 260





	The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 of Recoveryverse! It's been an honor working with Firondoiel, LuvEwan, and sanerontheinside and I'm very excited to show off what we've created.
> 
> This is a collaborative series which updates every other Sunday.

Throughout the medical ship was stillness, yet anticipation. Potential energy, like a Tooka coiled up to pounce.

When the ship docked at the Jedi Temple, everything sprung into motion with precision and efficiency. Vokara Che and her handpicked team were waiting, dressed in sterile protective gear.

Che was upon him in an instant, assessing, giving orders in a cool, clear voice. She caught Qui-Gon’s eye and gave him a tiny shake of her head. It was a look that said,  _ don’t get your hopes up _ .

Qui-Gon already knew. Obi-Wan had technically died on Naboo—that is, they had needed to restart his heart en route to the Royal Medcenter of Theed. There they had rolled his gurney straight from the ambulance speeder to an operating room. Qui-Gon had arranged medical transport for Coruscant immediately, because he  _ knew _ . If they were going to return to the Temple, they had to leave as soon as Obi-Wan was no longer actively bleeding out.

As tightly as Qui-Gon clung to the few moments of lucidity he had witnessed in hyperspace, the fiasco with the bacta tank had caused the internal bleeding to begin again in earnest. Obi-Wan’s body was in shock, and the sounds of insistent alarms had taunted them for the rest of the journey.

An unbecoming sound crawled up the back of Qui-Gon’s throat that sounded like a strangled, “…just  _ try _ .”

Che bowed her head solemnly, just once. Qui-Gon knew that they would.

While the medical team ran on ahead, Qui-Gon made his way to the Halls of Healing in a stupor. Mace Windu awaited him in the atrium, standing with his hands folded into his sleeves.

“It will have to wait,” Qui-Gon grumbled. “I have much to tell the Council—but not now.”

“I did not come on behalf of the Council,” Mace stated.

He took a seat. Qui-Gon sat beside him.

“Is it true?” Mace asked. “You defeated a Sith?”

Qui-Gon did not deny it. They waited in silence.

An hour later, Qui-Gon’s shoulders stiffened when a padawan approached them.

“He’s alive,” the padawan said, before Qui-Gon could ask. “Master Che wanted me to update you.”

There was a beat in which Qui-Gon seemed unable to reply, so Mace asked, “What is the update, Padawan…?”

“Unduli, Master. That was the update—he’s alive. The damage is very severe. Some of it may be irreparable; they do not know yet.”

“Thank you, Padawan Unduli.” Mace said.

She scurried off while Qui-Gon sat back in his chair and exhaled.

“What do you need?” Mace asked quietly.

Qui-Gon shook his head. He did not know what to say.

Over the next few minutes, Qui-Gon allowed his mind to wander back to the transport. “Anakin,” he said suddenly. “He must have stayed behind in the hangar bay.”

“Allow me. I’ll see that someone from the crèche is sent to ensure he is fed and given a place to sleep tonight ,” said Mace, and left to make the call.

Now seated alone, Qui-Gon heard his own heart pounding in his ears. Eventually, after some immeasurable amount of time, Vokara appeared in the doorway. He got to his feet, poised to hear the news. Vokara gestured down the hall.

“He’s still in bad shape, Jinn,” she said as she led the way down the long corridor. “You already know the gist of what happened?”

“I was there,” Qui-Gon said through his teeth.

Che nodded. “The lightsaber damaged several major arteries, but it also very nearly cauterized them, which is the only reason he did not bleed out within seconds. It passed through his liver, damaged his spinal cord, cut off the blood supply to several tissues—the right kidney and a section of his small intestine were already necrotic when he arrived; we couldn’t save them. And the list goes on, I’m afraid.”

Qui-Gon barely cared. He was still riding the wave of initial relief. Obi-Wan had made it out of surgery, so surely the rest would follow.

Che continued. “I suspect he might lose a significant portion of his liver as well, but we won’t know unless we can go back in to try and repair it.”

“Why not do that?” Qui-Gon asked.

“He wouldn’t survive,” she said. “The strain on his heart is too great. We were losing him, we had no choice but to stop what we were doing and close him up. I’m sorry.”

Qui-Gon stopped square in the center of the corridor. “There has to be something you can do,” he said.

“We can give him some time to get stronger, and reevaluate in the morning.”

“But if he makes it until morning, you will be able to do it?” Qui-Gon pressed.

“It’s more complicated than that, Jinn,” Che sighed. “We are going to do everything we can, I promise. But you need to understand.” She paused to take a deep breath. “This fight has only begun.”

Qui-Gon’s fingers curled around Obi-Wan’s river stone. He had slipped it into his pocket while the paramedics on Naboo were cutting away Obi-Wan’s ruined clothes. The stone was ice cold.

* * *

Obi-Wan did not look like he was sleeping.

Qui-Gon was unprepared for the sight of him so pale and grey, with a drain tube sticking out the side of his chest and an oxygen mask strapped over his nose and mouth. Somehow he looked worse than he had on Naboo, in stark lighting and with all the blood spatters sponged away.

He placed the river stone in Obi-Wan’s hand, and Obi-Wan’s fingers curled around it. Perhaps it was only a reflex. Sedatives kept Obi-Wan insensible of the pain, but Qui-Gon chose to believe that some part of him was still present.

A well-trained Jedi had no use for physical anchors to center themselves in the Force, but Obi-Wan still reached for the stone sometimes out of habit. If he was aware on any level, he would appreciate it.

The night passed slowly while Qui-Gon waited, murmuring quiet words of strength.

By morning, Obi-Wan was feverish. His skin had taken on a sickly yellow hue. Qui-Gon’s eyes stung with exhaustion, and his heart sank when he saw Che and Luminara engaged in a tense debate just outside the door. He could not hear them through the transparisteel windows, so he turned back to Obi-Wan and waited.

Finally Luminara’s small voice behind him cleared her throat. “Master Jinn?”

* * *

Qui-Gon realized that for all his encounters with Vokara Che, he had never been inside her office. It was a perfect reflection of its occupant, austere but warm. Che sat down at the desk while Padawan Unduli stood behind her shoulder, fidgeting with an armful of datapads.

“Take a seat,” the Master Healer said with a rare note of gentleness. “I’m afraid the damage to Obi-Wan’s liver was more extensive than we thought. He won’t survive the surgery in this condition.”

Qui-Gon had suspected as much. “So he needs more time?” he asked.

Che shook her head. “His liver enzymes are critically low, and the output of the surviving kidney is basically nothing, which indicates that he’s progressing into multiple organ failure—his body is shutting down, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as he absorbed the blow.

“He could rally,” Che continued. “It’s not impossible. But realistically, this process has a domino effect. As one system starts to fail, it upsets the balance that keeps everything else running. And he’s still at risk for a major blood clot or even a stroke—the walls of the arteries that were burned by the saber are very weak—and he’s showing signs of infection on top of all of that, which he is frankly not strong enough to fight off.”

“Are you telling me to give up hope?” Qui-Gon asked tonelessly.

“ I am not telling you to do anything. I am trying to give you a full picture of the situation, before we ask you something. Lumi,”  Che prompted gently.

The padawan took a step forward.

“Master Jinn, Obi-Wan needs a new liver, and most likely a kidney. Force-sensitive beings aren’t good candidates for a traditional organ transplant, due to how our immune systems work, but I’ve been reading about some technology that’s being pioneered by a medcenter on Kamino. We could essentially use Obi-Wan’s own cells to clone a new organ.”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows slightly. “Why didn’t we do that from the start?”

“It’s extremely experimental,” Vokara answered for her, a note of warning in her voice, although she looked hopeful. “Padawan,”

“I know, Master.” Luminara said quickly. “The patients who have received this treatment successfully so far have all been stable, living with various chronic conditions, so they had months in advance to prepare for the transplant. And so far none of them have been Jedi.”

Qui-Gon digested that information. He looked at Che. “Do you think it will work?”

“I think there’s a chance,” Che admitted. “Jinn, even with accelerated cell growth it will take about a week before we even have a viable organ.”

“Does he have that long?”

Luminara stood up a little straighter. “We would use a combination of biomedical and Force-healing methods to put him into a sort of stasis. It’s risky,” she admitted.

“He’ll essentially be in a medically-induced coma,” Che added. “ And we will not be able to reverse it if the transplant is unsuccessful. I’d consider this a fairly radical course of action.”

Qui-Gon fell silent.

“We understand if you need a few hours to think, or to ask questions,” Che said. “But we also need to act soon.”

Qui-Gon allowed himself to show a moment of worry. He wrung his hands, just once. If only he had been a little faster. If only he had foreseen what was on Obi-Wan’s mind before the fight, perhaps he could have put a stop to it. Perhaps he even should’ve kept Obi-Wan at the medcenter on Naboo, if the transport had put such a strain on him.

Qui-Gon was not one to dwell on past choices once they had been made. There was only the choice before him.

“Qui-Gon, he was your padawan for many years. Did you ever talk to him about the type of care he would or wouldn’t want to receive in a situation like this? Would he want extraordinary measures taken?”

Qui-Gon almost laughed. They were speaking of the padawan who routinely threw himself in front of bombs to save a fellow Jedi or a few civilians. Sometimes Qui-Gon wondered whether he truly had a death wish.

“What happens if we don’t go through with it?”

Che folded her hands on her desk. “Exactly what’s happening now. Medications to regulate his blood pressure, aggressive antibiotics to fight the infection, possibly dialysis if his kidney function doesn’t improve. And we wait and see.”

“But you don’t think he will get better that way.”

“I don’t think it’s very likely.”

Qui-Gon had to believe that Obi-Wan would not want to go out without a fight. There was no other option in Qui-Gon’s mind. They had to try everything they could.

He gave his consent, wondering again if Obi-Wan would suffer for his choices.  _ This time was supposed to be different. _

Qui-Gon had sworn he would never teach again, until Obi-Wan had shown up on Bandomeer and surprised him with his spirit and his unthinking selflessness. He had sworn an oath to his padawan to protect and to teach him, and he’d sworn an oath to himself that he would not fail again. Feemor, he had alienated. Xanatos, he had left vulnerable to the darkness and ultimately destroyed. But Obi-Wan— _ no, not you, too _ .

He could not bear to be in the room while Obi-Wan was put deep into a healing trance and hooked up to life support. Luminara came to find him when it was done.

The healers allowed them some time alone.

“Don’t say that I have failed you too,” Qui-Gon murmured, tracing his fingers along the side of Obi-Wan’s clammy hand. It was as if his padawan were not there. Machines pumped air in and out of his lungs, sent electrical impulses to his heart, filtered his blood, injected nutrients into his veins. His hand muscles no longer reflexively grasped the river stone, but Qui-Gon still made sure it was always beside him. Even in the Force, Obi-Wan felt foggy and far away.

A week was a long time to wait. Mace brought tea every other day, and persuaded Qui-Gon to accompany him on short walks, to the gardens or to the crèche. Anakin visited only once, but there wasn’t much to say, and Qui-Gon sensed that all the medical equipment frightened him. Luminara brought him updates about how things were coming in the lab, but he could not absorb the details.

“Today’s the day?” asked Mace quietly as he entered the room. Qui-Gon was sitting by the bed again, watching the artificial rise and fall of Obi-Wan’s chest.

Qui-Gon nodded. “They say it will take several hours, and nearly half a day in bacta afterwards. They won’t know until tomorrow whether it was a success.”

Che and Luminara arrived to check on them one last time. They were already dressed in surgical robes.

It was far too late now to question his decision. Qui-Gon stood stoically as Che reiterated the risks, processing none of it. 

"As soon as we bring Obi-Wan out of stasis, he will be every bit as weak as he was before. It will be like unpausing the clock, he will still be fighting liver failure and losing fast,” Che said.

“Today we will address the most life-threatening issue,” Luminara added. “Hopefully we’ll see the organ failure start to reverse. That’s our only priority right now. We haven’t even begun to deal with the rest—it’s likely that he will have some pretty severe deficits related to the spinal injury. We want to make sure you’re prepared for that part, too.” 

"Thank you," Qui-Gon said simply as he mentally discarded all of that information. He did not need it. In several hours, they would tell him whether Obi-Wan lived, and what to do next.

He wanted to say something before Obi-Wan’s bed was steered out of the room, but there was no time to think. "I will hold onto this for you," he whispered, taking the river stone from Obi-Wan’s limp hand, and touching his cheek.

_ So you had better come back for it. _

* * *

Mace Windu’s voice cut through his silent rumination.

"Do you have your wrist commlink?"

Qui-Gon looked at him, confused. "I do."

"Good. Then they will be able to get a hold of you if you are needed. Until then," Mace gestured towards the exit, and shepherd him out of the Halls.

Somehow leaving made the past two weeks feel more surreal to Qui-Gon. As it turned out, the outside world had continued to exist while Qui-Gon was lingering within those cream-colored corridors for the better part of a fortnight. He thought about all the long afternoons he or Obi-Wan had spent in the Halls under lighter circumstances, usually with the convalescent one bargaining with the other for his release. He longed to hear Obi-Wan's exasperated laughter again, even if the laughter was at Qui-Gon's expense after he had attempted to prove that he could walk on a turned ankle.

Mace led the way to the rooftop gardens, and sat wordlessly on a marble bench. Qui-Gon sat beside him without being asked. They passed the painful hours listening to the birds chirp and the filter in the artificial pond bubble. There was nothing to say. Not when presumably, somewhere not far below them, Obi-Wan lay open on an operating table.

"I can't...I won't fail him, Mace," Qui-Gon said after over two hours of silence. 

Mace eyed him appraisingly. "This is hardly your failure," he said in a measured voice.

Nearly a half hour later, Mace spoke up again. "What have we come to, if we can't protect our young ones from the Sith?"

Qui-Gon's thoughts strayed to Anakin, and then back to Obi-Wan. He wondered what was happening, at that moment, and whether they would be okay.

* * *

Qui-Gon could not bring himself to look into Master Che’s eyes. She did not leave him in suspense for long. 

"Luminara did excellent work," she said with a glance towards the senior padawan. "There are still a lot of variables up in the air. But there was good blood flow to the organs and no signs of rejection when we closed up. He will be transferred to the bacta tank now."

The warnings began in earnest again. Qui-Gon got the sense that they were hopeful, but still leery of sharing that hope with him. He could still hear Che’s voice reminding him—it would be a few days before they could be sure Obi-Wan’s body would not reject the new organs. It would be nearly a week before he could be weaned off the ventilator and the feeding tube. He still had months of procedures ahead to try to repair his spinal cord and the damaged nerves. And other things could take years, maybe a lifetime to heal from.

But Obi-Wan held steady while suspended in the bacta, and his bloodwork started to improve. The horrible puncture wound in his abdomen had been extended in both directions by a long, thin surgical incision. Qui-Gon was offered an empty bed in the Halls that night, and he managed a few hours of badly-needed rest.

The next morning, Qui-Gon paced through the Halls until a healer called him in to help with Obi-Wan’s neurological exam.

Obi-Wan had been bathed after the bacta, and his hair was still damp. Qui-Gon felt a flutter in his chest, and reached out to fiddle with the hem of Obi-Wan’s blanket, tucking it up a little higher.

“Pushing the antagonist,” one healer said as she injected a vial into Obi-Wan’s IV.

“What happens now?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I just gave him a drug which will reverse the effects of the sedative. When he wakes, we will ask him some questions, and check his reflexes to determine how badly his spinal cord is damaged. He will be disoriented, and probably in a lot of pain,” the healer warned him. “We’ve asked you here so that he will have a familiar face.”

It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to start stirring. He was still immobilized by the braces protecting his spine and most of the machines that had sustained him while his body was in a deep trance, but he shifted and his eyelids fluttered.

“And when it is finished, you will sedate him again?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Yes, as soon as possible,” the healer confirmed.

So they would only have a few moments. For a heartbeat, Qui-Gon wished that they would not have to put him back under so soon. Then he felt a heave, like a power surge of pain and fear echoing along their Force bond, and that moment when Obi-Wan would be unconscious again could not come soon enough.

Obi-Wan’s eyes glanced frantically all around the room before settling on Qui-Gon’s face.

“Shh, you’re alright. Don’t try to speak.” Qui-Gon said as Obi-Wan's eyes rolled up into his skull. His back arched in pain, as much as the braces allowed it to. He tried to breathe in sharply, but the ventilator wouldn't let him. Then he started to panic.

"Padawan Kenobi, you are in the Halls of Healing,” the healer interrupted. “You just had major surgery. There is a machine breathing for you—I know that's uncomfortable, but try not to fight it. Can you follow this light with your eyes?"

Qui-Gon tutted softly and rested a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan was still glancing nervously at him in-between following the healers instructions.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Obi-Wan tried to shake his head, but the neck brace did not allow it.

Obi-Wan slid his hand into Qui-Gon's. He made the sign for 'no' in galactic basic sign language.

The healer nodded. "Do you know where you are?"

Obi-Wan did not, despite the fact that she had told him five seconds ago.

"Do you know the current chancellor, Obi-Wan? You can just sign the first letter."

Obi-Wan just stared. He finally looked away from her, and met Qui-Gon's eyes.

"That's alright," she assured him. "You’re doing great, Obi-Wan. Can you wiggle your toes for me?"

Nothing happened. 

"Wiggle them harder, as much as you can. Are you doing it?"

Obi-Wan signed ‘yes’. His feet remained motionless. Because he could not crane his neck to see for himself, he looked askance at Qui-Gon, who pulled his mental shields tight.

“Okay,” the healer nodded. “Now I need you to squeeze Qui-Gon’s hand for me whenever you feel my reflex hammer, alright?”

The healer stroked the handle end of the hammer from the arch of his foot up to his toes, waiting for a muscle contraction that did not come. Then she checked each of his tendon reflexes. 

Qui-Gon was watching Obi-Wan’s face for signs of distress, but he seemed to be in too much pain to comprehend that the results of the exam should be concerning. He was trying to breathe more quickly than the ventilator again, and the fact that he couldn’t was scaring him. Maybe—just maybe—he was too preoccupied with that to remember to squeeze Qui-Gon’s hand even when he did feel something.

It was wishful thinking and Qui-Gon dismissed it as such. Obi-Wan’s hand did not squeeze his until the healer was checking the radial tendon in his wrist. He had no sensation and very little motor response anywhere below the waist. Qui-Gon had no idea what that would mean for the rest of Obi-Wan’s life—a hoverchair for starters, he realized with a jolt. And what if he was cognitively impaired as well?

Although he was shielding Obi-Wan from direct exposure to what he felt, he knew it was plain on his face. When the exam was over, Obi-Wan squeezed his hand again.

“It’s still too soon to tell how much damage is permanent,” the healer told them both. “Some of it may heal with treatment and time. You did great, Obi-Wan. We’re going to help you go back to sleep now.”

Obi-Wan only spared her a single glance. His knuckles were white as his grip tightened.

“I’m here,” Qui-Gon said, aware of a tremor sneaking into his voice as he squeezed back. “I will be here.” He meant through everything. Whatever lay in store for them, through challenges he hadn’t even tried to imagine yet.

Obi-Wan accepted unconsciousness as it crept back over him. The pain Qui-Gon sensed from their unshielded bond faded back into drug-induced fogginess. He gave Obi-Wan’s hand one more squeeze before laying it down on the mattress by his side.

The healer finished with some scans, and sent them to Che and the rest of Obi-Wan’s medical team so they could begin to devise the next steps. If Obi-Wan continued to improve, they could attempt to surgically graft some of the severed nerves, and give him a better chance at mobility.

A chance, they were careful to say. Even now, the warnings never ended. But the questions of whether he would walk again and what his life would look like through the long recovery were secondary to Qui-Gon, at least for the moment. Obi-Wan was alive, and he would ask the Force for nothing more today.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! You can find me at happygiraffe or swhurtcomfort on tumblr for more Obi-Wan content!


End file.
